Dreams and Nightmares

Summary:

Notes:

To my other readers: this is probably the darkest story I've written. Pay attention to the warnings. If it doesn't seem like your cup of tea, please move on.

For a kink_bingo square: consent play. Also, this is sort of a pseudo-crossover with Supernatural.

Work Text:

Adam's dreaming about big brown doe eyes and so-fake blonde hair and gloss-shiny pink lips stretched around his cock, hot and amazing and perfect for dreaming because it's safe, a harmless fantasy about a rock-solid friend who would probably be nothing but flattered if he knew about it. Hell, probably does know about it, but that's the thing about Tommy – he's the best kind of straight, the kind that's secure enough it in to not get hung up on a few stage kisses and a lot of cuddles. He doesn't get offended, and he doesn't get obsessed, doesn't want more or less. He's so fucking chill that Adam sometimes can't believe he's real. Perfect.

That is, until something makes his body jerk, yanks him hard into wakefulness, and it's like the dream comes with him, because that is definitely Tommy kneeling down there on the bed, and Tommy is definitely sucking his cock. And holy fuck, that's just not fair, because there's no way this is Tommy's first time, not with that steady rhythm, the way his tongue flickers just right, the way his cheeks are hollowed out with the hard suction of it. Tommy glances up and catches him watching, and there's something glittering in his eyes that Adam's never seen before, something intense and challenging and wicked, almost. And then Tommy's sinking down further, taking more, and Adam can't look any more, has to throw his head back and close his eyes and focus on not screaming so loud the whole floor will hear him, because Tommy's taking it all, the head of his cock fucking right into tight throat muscles, fluttering in protest before yielding to him.

“Fuck...fuck...Tommy, I can't, I...” and he really can't, could count on one hand the number of times anyone's been able to do this for him, and it's been so long, and pride be damned, he's gonna blow it right the fuck now if Tommy doesn't back off fast.

Tommy gets the message and sits up, leaves Adam's cock wet and sloppy and rock-hard in the cool air, and Adam takes a breath and runs his hands over his face and wonders what the fuck to do now. He never expected this to happen, never once seriously considered it. For the first time in a long time, he's totally at a loss for what to say.

But Tommy doesn't even give him a chance to calm down, get some of the blood from his dick back to working for his brain. He crawls up the bed, and for the first time, Adam can see that he's completely naked, pale skin bright in the darkness. Head pressed down into the bed, ass presented in the air, and Adam actually pinches himself – hard – on the arm, just to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep again, because he's had this dream.

When Adam doesn't move right away, Tommy turns to look back at him with that same heavy-lidded stare, the one that screams come on, fucker, what are you waiting for, and kicks his mouth into gear, the words thrown back at him like a gauntlet thrown at his feet.

“You fucking pussy, strutting around shoving your dick in everyone's face, don't you know how to use it when it counts? Come on, give it to me, know you want to, know you get off on it, gonna keep me waiting? Thought you were supposed to be the best at this shit, or is that just an act too, just for the stage? Just...”

Adam cuts him off with a sharp smack, openhanded right across his ass, and Tommy shuts up quick with a little whine. Anger is boiling in his blood now, spinning and colliding with pent-up desire and pushing him toward overwhelming, a place where he can't breathe and he can't think and all that's left is single-minded want.

“Tiny little bitch, gonna fuck that attitude right out of you, and just remember that you fucking asked for it,” Adam growls, and he doesn't even bother to slick his cock, just kneels up behind Tommy and lines himself up and pushes, nothing but the spit Tommy's left behind to ease his way. And, oh god, it's tight, almost painfully tight, and it has to be hurting, has to be, but Tommy doesn't show a bit of it, actually pushes back, fucking himself deeper onto Adam's cock, and when Adam manages to force his eyes open to get a look at Tommy's face, he's grinning.

“You like that? You want it to hurt? Hang on, baby, I'm gonna make you scream.” And this is so not him, not like anything he's ever done before, but Tommy looks blissed-out, flying, victorious, and that look pushes Adam harder, pushes him to grab onto Tommy's hips and pull him back into each vicious thrust, the arms in his muscles going tight with the effort, Tommy going limp and loose and pliant, letting Adam move him, like he's nothing, not even there, just a wet open hole to fuck.

Adam's orgasm hits him out of nowhere, hard and sparking like an electric shock, back arching and mouth tearing open and come shooting deep into Tommy's abused ass, and he hates himself a little bit even as it's happening, because oh my god it's so good, so good and he shouldn't be getting off on this crazy rough shit, but he is, and now it's in his head and he knows what it feels like and he's never getting rid of it again, is he?

Two breaths later, he pulls out and flips Tommy onto his back, lays him out on the bed so he can do his best to give him the orgasm of his life. But when he looks down, he realizes that Tommy's not hard. Not only not hard...completely the opposite, actually, and that just doesn't make sense. Adam reaches down and brushes his hand over Tommy's soft cock, but there's nothing, no response, not even a tremor. He pulls his hand away and sits back on his heels, and looks up at Tommy's face, confused and worried and starting to feels just a little bit sick.

Tommy doesn't say a word, just lays there and smirks at him, a tiny spiteful infuriating little smile. Then, body moving in unnatural jerks like a puppet on a string, his head wrenches back, and his mouth flies wide-open, and something that looks like a thick cloud of black smoke comes streaming out, spiraling up and away into the vent on the ceiling. The whole thing lasts about five seconds, and they are, no contest, the strangest and most terrifying five seconds of Adam's life.

As the last of the smoke disappears, Tommy falls back to the bed, gasping for breath even as his face crumples. In the next second, he's crying, crying hard, and it's not like the beginning of crying either, but like he's been doing it for a long time, ugly breathless body-wracking sobs. His hands come up to cover his face, and every muscle in his body goes livewire-tight, and Adam can't even move, frozen in stomach-churning room-spinning horror. He can't begin to explain what he just saw, but he knows enough to know that he fucked up, worse than he's ever fucked up in his life.

His voice sounds tiny and unfamiliar when it comes. “Tommy?”

“I'm sorry, Adam, I'm so sorry, it got inside me and I couldn't stop it, I couldn't do anything, and it wouldn't even let me close my eyes, made me watch while it said...while it did...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't...I can't...oh god...”

Adam can hardly make out the words through Tommy's hitching breath, but he hears enough. He looks around the room, as if the answers will be written on the walls, feeling sick and small and lost. A word keeps running through his head, unwelcome but insistent, a word that brands itself onto the deepest part of him with the finality of everything that can't be undone.

But Tommy seems beyond words now, rolling over onto his side and curling up into a tiny ball of naked, shaking limbs. And normally, Adam would hug him – he always hugs people who are upset. But Tommy might as well be behind bars, or on the other side of the world, or on the moon. He feels like he never wants to touch anyone ever again.

He should be calling someone right now, someone who can come and take care of Tommy who didn't just fucking rape him (and there's the nausea back again, and a crazy itching under his skin, like he wants to rip it off and walk away without it). It takes everything he has to force himself into motion, to grab his phone off the nightstand and open it to the contacts list, try and decide who's gonna have to take on this completely unfair burden.

But as soon as Tommy sees the light of the phone, he twists around, pain echoing in his eyes, and looks at Adam with a pleading stare that freezes him in place again.

“No, please, don't tell anyone, you can't. No one else will believe me.”

“But...Tommy...”

“You wouldn't have if you hadn't seen it. And no one else saw it. Please, Adam, I don't want them to call me crazy or call you...anything. Please.”

Adam takes a deep breath and lets the phone slip out of his hand onto the bed. It topples over the edge and onto the floor, maybe breaking. He can't bring himself to care.

Eventually, Tommy falls into a fitful, restless sleep. Adam eases himself up off the bed carefully, terrified of waking Tommy up, and retreats to the farthest corner of the room, tucking himself into an ugly hotel armchair and drawing his knees up tight to his chest. He keeps watch all night, never even coming close to sleep, and more than once he thinks he sees shadows moving in the corners of the room, and his heart jumps into his throat, and his eyes race around from darkness to darkness, looking for something he doesn't have a name for, something he will never find.